


Bite

by HiddenLacuna



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221b, Gen, Post-Reichenbach, Reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-29
Updated: 2013-01-29
Packaged: 2017-11-27 09:30:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/660387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiddenLacuna/pseuds/HiddenLacuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thank you, <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/thisprettywren/">thisprettywren</a>, for not slapping me through the internets for fussing this much over 221 words. </p><p>The yahoos in the Antidiogenes Club decided to write 221Bs with "bite" tonight. Behold my little nibble.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Bite

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, [thisprettywren](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thisprettywren/), for not slapping me through the internets for fussing this much over 221 words. 
> 
> The yahoos in the Antidiogenes Club decided to write 221Bs with "bite" tonight. Behold my little nibble.

"No. Just.... no." John clenches shaking fists against his thighs. "You are not here. I _won’t have it_. I _watched_ you _die_. So you had better not be fucking standing in front of me today." He breathes out, hard, through his nose, clenching his jaw so tightly that his molars rumble like incoming thunder.

The man standing in front of him on the pavement is greyer, harder, lonelier, carrying the ghosts of sleepless days and watchful nights in the corners of his lightning eyes. "John. I truly am.... sorry."

"Sorry? Sorry that you _killed yourself_? Sorry that you made me _watch_?" Yelling now. "Sorry that every fucking day for the past three years I've asked myself why I wasn't good enough — _there_ in time to save you? That maybe it was me, my fault, that calling you a machine might have pushed you over the edge?"

"Really, John, you didn't _push_ me over the edge at all." Chapped and sunburnt lips turn upward into what appears to be their first grin in a very long time. "You were watching. I jumped."

John snorts, then dissolves. It's not real laughter, but it will do for now. 

"I wish you _had_ died, you bastard," John chokes out, twisting his fingers into Sherlock's lapels, but somehow, his words don't carry all that much bite.


End file.
